


The Gilded Cage

by shetlandowl



Series: Stony Bingo Card 2017 [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bittersweet, M/M, Modern Royalty, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 16:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13194126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shetlandowl/pseuds/shetlandowl
Summary: The King's long-time friend and political ally comes for a visit, and to introduce His Majesty to her son, Crown Prince Steven.





	The Gilded Cage

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to [Faithful, even in love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15319905), and a snapshot of how King Tony and Prince Steve first met. For the "captivity" square on my Stony bingo card.

The wind raced around his ears with the force and comfort of the outer stratosphere, of solitude and refuge from the anchor of gravity. He was flying, soaring across the sky, and the power of every leap vibrated through his bones until Tony all but forgot where he was or where he was going, and all that remained was the rush of freedom unlike any other. 

It was only morning, and from far away, through the slumbering clouds and promise of rainstorms, Tony could make out the sun crawling leisurely through the sky. The day was only just beginning, but somehow, it already felt tired and long. The test results of his most recent attempt at improving the capacity and reliability of his industrial solar-powered batteries had been a grave disappointment, so despite the requirements of his cramped schedule for the day, Tony stole a moment to himself. A chance to escape, and to recalibrate. 

All too soon, the sloping fields merged with the thick undergrowth of the nearby woodlands, and Tony reined in his mare before they climbed too far. Hypatia whinnied, slowing to a canter and then to a trot as they swept up the gravel road to an outcropping of the low mountainside that overlooked the palace grounds below. 

“Der Fisch stinkt vom Kopf her,” he reminded her and himself, rubbing her neck absently in praise. “At least you never disappoint me, do you, Mausi?”

Obliging as she was, his mare tossed her head and worked the gravel beneath her hooves. Tony smiled at her and gave her a last, indulgent pat before urging her onward, allowing her to walk up the path along the hillside at her own pace. 

The Royal Palace and its sprawling gardens were situated in the heart of the capital, a vibrant reprieve from the metropolis that otherwise served the largest city in the kingdom. From his advantaged position, Tony could see casual visitors enjoying the afternoon sun in the park; some were napping in the shadows of the oak trees, while others picnicked with friends, or enjoyed a book on a park bench. 

“How would our people respond if they knew that we were out here, Hypatia?” Tony wondered, perhaps a touch too bitterly. “His Majesty, the Knave, idling the day away in the city park when he could subsidise two years of all university expenses with one measly design.”

His mare tossed her head again, as she often did when Tony stopped speaking. He was patting her flank and softly praising her vehement defense of his efforts when he noticed a car with diplomatic flags pulling up through the secure driveway to the palace. 

“Scheiße... Our guests are early, Mausi,” he realized with a thoughtful frown. Tugging gently on her reins, he turned Hypatia around to make their way down the way they came. 

Their pace was slow while the incline remained steep, but as soon as the ground evened out they eased into a cautious canter, until they finally reached the open fields where Tony could let her run free. “Schnöi, Hypatia!” he urged her on as they gained speed, rising in the saddle to lean into her breakneck gallop as they all but flew back to the palace. 

Often, Tony would comfortably canter back through the park, allowing time to stop and speak with any of his people who wished for a moment of his time, or with any of the park attendants along the way. Today, however, he had no such time to spare. Today, Hypatia tore across park with all her speed and might. Staff and guards alike stepped aside to clear the King’s path, calling kind wishes and good health after his Majesty as he passed. 

“You are late,” Pepper greeted him tersely as Hypatia skidded to a sudden stop at the foot of the palace’s marble steps. No sooner had Tony leapt from the saddle than an attendant appeared to lead the mare away, and Pepper was at Tony’s side at once to remind him of his remaining scheduled duties. 

“Her Majesty the Queen of Terrini and her personal staff and guards have arrived; she is waiting for you, but she does not know you are,” Pepper paused, sniffing delicately in Tony’s direction in an unspoken expression of disapproval, “ _indisposed_ at the moment. Her contingency—are you sure they should stay here? Jim still advises against it.”

“They, too, are to be our guests,” Tony said as he hurried in the direction of the far-away but better concealed stairs of the East Wing in the hopes of avoiding the Queen while he was fresh from a long ride. “There are two hundred rooms in this palace, I will hear no argument for why it cannot be done. Her attendants and her guard may stay on the floor beneath her Majesty’s wing. They will be afforded every courtesy. Whatever they require while her Majesty is our guest will be given to them, am I clear?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

***

“This is the worst,” Steve muttered and tried to resist scratching at the growing rash at his uniform collar. “What strega vendicativa cursed these itchy miserable straitjackets?”

Sam rolled his eyes, but was otherwise distracted by the carved map of the known world from the 1300s that decorated the hallway leading to the Southern Foyer. Bucky, however, grinned with such immense self-satisfaction that Steve could feel it. 

“Stronzo grigio,” Steve cursed his best friend under his breath, and Bucky choked on air from the effort not to throw back his head and laugh, laugh, laugh.

“I’m sorry, are you looking for sympathy?” Bucky whispered innocently. “Itchy uniforms aren’t as funny when _you_ have to wear them, are they?”

In the safety of the Royal Palace of Eisenturm, capital of Machtberg and primary residence of the King himself, all but a handful of the visiting Queen’s guards were allowed to explore the near wing of the palace until such time that the King arrived. These parts of the palace had been decorated with grand and historic gifts to the Crown awarded at various ceremonies or as expressions of gratitude over centuries. Each piece, whether of the handcrafted vases from the Far East, or of the narrative tapestries from the New World, was priceless. 

Steve stopped rubbing at his neck and looked away from a tapestry woven with gold and vibrant silks from Ancient Persia when an unusual soft clicking sound caught his attention. 

“Attento!” he whispered to his men, and both Sam and Bucky spun on their heels on their Captain’s order to stand at attention when a small congression of arguing Mächtigen walked past them. A young red headed woman seemed to be in charge, if her impeccable dress, commanding tone, and long-suffering expression were any indication of power. Two soldiers followed closely behind as she addressed the groundskeeper. 

Neither she nor her entourage spoke to the Terrini soldiers, but the woman in charge seemed to recognize Steve, and she bowed her head to the Captain in passing. The scruffy groundskeeper followed her line of sight at such a show of deference, but where Steve expected yet another bow or pale shock at his station, the man instead openly ogled him and smirked with approval. 

Clearly, the groundskeeper liked what he saw, and he was unafraid to show it. 

From Steve’s right, he could hear Sam’s sharp inhale of surprise at such an indiscreet and obvious once-over. As a man whose station commanded respect and tiresome deference, being so openly ogled by an attractive man was a new experience for Steve. Shamelessly, he swept his gaze over the well-built man, and with a dark, wicked look in his eyes, he smiled back. 

The groundskeeper whipped around for a double-take, almost tripping himself over some steps on the stairs. 

“Captain?” Sam whispered carefully, trying to draw Steve’s attention from the way those brown breeches loosely hugged the groundskeeper’s muscular legs, or how his linen shirt casually draped over strong shoulders. His work boots were grimey and well-worn, and dark stains over his knees and his sleeves were clearly signs of manual labor that had Steve’s blood pumping. 

“Steve,” Bucky whispered a little more insistently, not that it deterred Steve much; he even took a few steps forward so he could catch another glimpse of the handsome brunet walking away from him. “Steve, are you trying to get us executed?”

That, at least, got Steve’s attention. He blinked and turned to give Bucky a confused look. “Since when do they execute people in Machtberg?”

Bucky and Sam exchanged bewildered looks. “Since you eyefucked the King, you asshole.”

*** 

Tony found the Queen in the west-facing library under a canopy of porcelain roses. 

“I am told this was my mother’s favorite study,” he said once his presence was announced. “King Howard, may he rest in peace, commissioned an Austrian artist to fill a library of her favorite books with her favorite flower, sculpted such that they never wilt.”

The Queen watched him with a smile as she listened, then held her hand out in invitation. “I missed you, dear friend.”

Tony returned her smile warmly, and stepped forward at once to take her hand and brushed a kiss over the back of it. Many years ago when they had first met, when he was the young Crown Prince and she the newly crowned Queen of Terrini, her skin had been coarse with life-long callouses of hard labor while his were soft and unmarred from the privilege of affluent leisure. Now, her hand felt silken and delicate in his, fragile with old age. 

Gently, she wrapped her free hand around the back of his head and led Tony forward so that she could press a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“She would be very proud of you, child,” the Queen promised him, then stepped back with her hands clasped once again. “You have transformed your father’s legacy into a beacon of advancement and hope.”

“Thank you for being here,” Tony replied, in lieu of addressing her sincere praise directly. “I feel better presenting everything before the Commission with an ally.”

One of the palace attendants who stood in the doorway of the library addressed them politely, but before she could finish, a young man’s voice interrupted him. 

“Ma?” the Captain of the Guard said as he rushed to the library, but he staggered to a halt in undisguised surprise when he recognized the man standing beside the Queen as the groundskeeper from earlier. In place of the scruff, the worn boots, and the dusty breeches, he now looked every inch the King in his tailored dress pants, silk waistcoat, and perfectly trimmed facial hair. 

“Your Majesty,” he whispered, a little breathless by the stark transformation. 

Quietly, Tony hummed to himself, and a corner of his mouth curled up in a wry smile. “So, you knew? Your Highness.”

“That’s the first time I’ve been accused of knowing anything in my life,” Steve replied before he could think better of it, then stared at Tony with a wide-eyed horror. Lamely, breathlessly, he added, “sir.”

Tony hung his head for just a moment and seemed to struggle to keep from laughing at Steve’s reaction. Thankfully, he recovered himself quickly. 

“Your Majesty,” the Queen said with a well-practiced patience, “may I introduce my son, Crown Prince Steven.”

“Steve, please,” Steve corrected naturally, then after another hesitation thought to bow his head as again he cleared his throat and added, “eh. Sir.”

Tony smiled graciously, as if Steve was doing none of the stumbling or stuttering. “Your reputation precedes you, Steve. Had I heard nothing of your courageous achievements in the war, or your efforts to help rehabilitate veterans and survivors alike, I would have been honored to simply meet Queen Sarah’s son, of whom I have heard only the highest compliments.”

“Dang šee,” Steve replied with halting confidence, anything but fluent in their variation of German. 

A moment of silence hung between them. Lifelong grooming was all that kept Tony from openly staring in his surprise, but he couldn’t help but smile with delight when he asked, “You speak German? High German?”

“Slowly,” Steve pronounced carefully.

“Perhaps this will be an opportunity to practice,” the Queen suggested, then with a meaningful look at Steve, she added, “there is much my son could yet learn from you, my friend.”

“For myself, I would be delighted to better know my neighbor and future ally,” Tony replied with an easy smile. “Until the Commission delegates arrive tomorrow, I am, faithfully, at your service. There is no need to rush. If you wish to settle in, to eat or to rest, the staff can escort you to my study at your convenience.”

The Queen did not say a word, but she watched her son carefully. Steve looked between the both of them, until finally, he said, “Thank you, sir, for your generosity. I’ll be ready within the hour.”

*** 

“His Royal Highness, the Prince of Terrini—”

“Can speak for himself,” Steve muttered to himself outside the doorway of Tony’s private study as the attendant rattled off title after title to introduce him. The King was taking advantage of the time to finish up his work and tidy his workspace, but he glanced at Steve with a knowing smile that made Steve blush in alarm. How Tony had heard his personal commentary was beyond him. 

“Thank you, Andrea,” Tony said to dismiss the attendant, then he stood up to personally invite Steve inside. “Please, come in. Allow me a reason to turn away from my work.”

“Thank you for—ai, Madonna,” Steve gasped as soon as he walked into Tony’s study and he realized there was much more than he had seen from the doorway. Unlike the personal suites and bedrooms Steve had just been in, the floor to ceiling windows in Tony’s office clustered together to bathe the whole space with natural light. A long, narrow pool curved organically across the center of the study, filling the room with a soothing murmur from its massage jets while also dividing the open space into two halves: one was an organized, tidy work space, and the other was a more casual, relaxed reading area structured around a freestanding fireplace. 

With the exception of the windows, all walls of the study were designed with built-in shelving, and subsequently filled to capacity with books ranging from textbooks and dictionaries in various languages, to the most recent scientific research publications. 

Tony’s grand mahogany desk was the focal point of his work space, a timeless, handcrafted piece that undoubtedly predated Steve by many decades. 

Across the small bridging walkway and farther inside the study, several leather armchairs were grouped together around the open fireplace as if always awaiting happy reunions. Tony invited Steve to seat himself in one of them while he walked to the modest bar arranged on a low shelf to fix them something to drink. 

“My mother wishes I were like you,” Steve confessed before Tony had sat down, before he had even pressed a drink into Steve’s hands. At the admission, Tony filled Steve’s tumbler more generously than he otherwise would, and brought the bottle with him to have readily on hand. 

“That was not what one expected to hear,” Tony eventually replied. “Elaborate?” 

Steve scoffed quietly, a self-deprecating huff of laughter. “I am a soldier, and before that, I was a goat farmer. That’s what I was meant to be, sir: a goat farmer. I speak Cimbri half as well as you, and it is my only language. You don’t even have an accent,” he added plaintively. “It is what, your fourth language? Tenth?” 

“And yet you are still here,” Tony observed, which must have made little sense to Steve, because he looked up with a confused expression. 

“Of course I’m still here, I have to be here,” he replied, but Tony took a sip of his whisky and shook his head once. 

“The war is won, your people’s independence restored. I was there to see the Queen’s tireless efforts to have the new state government recognized, which it has been for four years now. What keeps you in your station?”

Steve listened attentively, and he thought about Tony’s question for some time. It was true; the oligarchy had been overthrown, and a democracy installed to take its place. He and his father had won their field victory, and his mother, a farmer in her own right, grew into her role as their diplomatic figurehead overnight, a symbol of their cause. She had a natural inclination for politics no-one could have expected from her, yet it was her intelligence, combined with the humble attention to people that delivered her success: when she spoke, she did not speak on behalf of a region, but on behalf of a people with whose fears and needs she was intimately familiar. 

“The war is won,” Steve agreed quietly. “But our people… the government, it is not stable; it is not yet efficient or effective. Mother is trusted by most, and her presence provides hope. People will participate and make an effort because they believe she will, too, as she always has. But she has an education; she knows how to read and write. She wishes I was you, because our people need a leader to follow her. I do not know how to be one.” 

“Do your people all know how to read and write?” 

Instinctively, Steve glared at Tony for such a crass question. Machtberg was one of the wealthiest nations on earth, one where children seem to be born with advanced degrees, whereas Steve’s people were fortunate to be born in a hospital. 

“No,” he said tersely, challenging himself not to growl his defensive anger. “We cannot afford to, _sir_. The people do not need an education to know how our farms and our livestock will save us in winter.” 

“Then you have a great advantage,” Tony told him in a lowered voice. “Never allow yourself to be told otherwise. King Howard, may he rest in peace, believed a king’s position was over his people. Your mother was the first leader to show me that one is not apart from the people, but indebted to them. To her, this was self-evident; that is what she taught me,” Tony clarified. “Learning how to lead is a far simpler task than it is to understand the common man’s burden. Were you like myself, your people would not recognize themselves in you as they recognize themselves in their Queen.” 

“I heard so much about you,” Steve said after a brief silence. “Even in the trenches, when mother called, father would tell me of ‘that kid, Tony,’ who helped her day after day.” 

Tony couldn’t help but grimace at the thought. “Did you grow to hate ‘that kid, Tony,’?” 

Where Tony expected Steve to look shamefaced, or even determined, Steve instead laughed. 

“Not once did they explain that you were a prince,” he said with a shy smile. “I thought you were helping my mother with directions, or advising her on what to eat—I thought you were a kid like me. Not one… not one facing a war, but a kid who kicked rocks and chased goats between chores. I felt sad for you,” he said a little softer, and he rubbed at his warming cheeks. “I thought it must have been so dull to regularly be at such events.”

Tony’s smile grew wider and more sincere the more Steve explained himself. “Your assumption was not inaccurate,” he admitted calmly, though his face nearly ached with the effort not to allow his broad smile to turn to laughter. 

Steve averted his eyes and hid his responding smile behind his glass as he finished his drink. To his left, Tony did this same, and they sat quietly together for some time, gazes lost in the crackling flames of the fireplace as they savored the comfortable silence and the rich whisky.

“How do you do what you do?” Steve eventually asked, his voice pitched low as if to conceal his discomfort. “Royalty are relics of the past, yet you… you not only enable progress, you enforce it. Your work, your inventions—you make them available to your citizens for free, and then with the global profit, you fund the education and medical care in Machtberg. You must be—”

Tony grimaced as Steve turned the conversation to him, and in the end he couldn’t bear to hear any more. “Please, I beg you—”

“—so stressed. What?” Steve looked up in surprise at Tony’s interruption, only to see Tony curiously peering back at him. 

“Come with me,” Tony said after a brief pause. He set his empty glass aside, then stood up lead them out of the room. Curious, Steve got to his feet also and followed Tony out of the study. An attendant who had been standing on hand outside of the study moved to follow them down the corridor, but Tony dismissed her with a gesture, allowing them to leave his wing of the palace alone. 

“Again, your intuition is not inaccurate,” Tony admitted once the doors of the palace were closed behind them, and they finally had true privacy in the open air of the lush rose garden. 

Steve couldn’t help but look around him at the marble statues of various animals in playful scenes, chasing each other and causing mischief through the roses of the garden. “Where are we going?” he wondered absently as he took it all in. 

“You asked how I manage the stress inherent in my position,” Tony reminded him, if a little playfully. “Allow me to show you.”

They walked in companionable silence through the garden for some time, until they emerged onto an expansive lawn that separated the palace gardens and the King’s personal stable. The single-storey building was designed in the same baroque, rococo style of the palace, with high, marble archways and gilted windows. 

Six generous box stalls were inside, but as Steve followed Tony’s lead further into the stable, only two horses stretched their heads out. Tony gravitated naturally towards the dark brown horse farthest from the doors, and the horse seemed just as eager to reach for him, too. 

“Only my family’s horses reside here,” Tony told Steve as he fished some treats for the horse from his pocket. The horse mouthed at his offered palm to lap up the treats and chewed leisurely on the cookies while Tony patted its head. “My mother’s horse is behind you, but this is Hypatia. She is mine.”

“Hypatia has been my refuge since I inherited the throne five years ago,” he said while stroking her head slowly and teasing her by rubbing at her velvety muzzle. “My staff of advisors, my Prime Minister, my Parliament, they are all dependable and necessary for the country, but there are many matters with which they cannot help me. Their duty is to serve the people and to govern; my duty is to protect my people, to ensure that they are not denied the necessities of life. She carries me away from that. With her, I can fly. Nothing else matters, then: not my station, not my responsibilities.”

Steve watched Tony caress Hypatia’s face, and though he was a little wary of animals of her size, he couldn’t help but smile at the clear affection they seemed to share. “She is a handsome animal.”

“You may be more fortunate than I, to be born common,” Tony mused, mostly thinking out loud. “Perhaps you have close friends who ground you, who treat you as a man rather than a prince. My friends are on my staff,” he clarified. “I am not only their king, but also their employer. Hypatia is my one opportunity to feel normal.”

“Of my friends before the war, only those who served with me treat me like they used to,” Steve admitted, then, with a grin, he couldn’t help but say, “I thought you were a groundskeeper, earlier. When you checked me out.” 

“I beg your pardon,” Tony said with a frown, clearly affronted. “You got caught checking _me_ out.”

“You can lie to yourself if that helps,” Steve snickered to himself, and he grinned shamelessly when Tony ducked his head behind Hypatia’s in an attempt to hide his smile and his blushing face. 

“A groundskeeper,” Tony muttered to himself, ironically amused. “I should be offended. I at least thought you were a shameless Captain.” 

“Well,” Steve drawled with a mischievous look in his eyes. “I may have been wrong, but you were not.”

Tony looked up at him in surprise, unaccustomed to hearing such bold expressions of interest. His gaze dropped to Steve’s lips, to his confident smirk, and he could feel a rising urge to kiss that self-satisfied look off the prince’s face. Absently, he wetted his lips, and watched with eager interest as Steve’s attention also faltered. 

Steve was the first to take a step closer to close the space between them, but Tony met him halfway to pull the prince in for a kiss. A surprised moan passed between them, and Steve brought his hands up to cup Tony’s face, guiding him gently as he deepened the kiss. Tony groaned softly in pleasure and turned them, pinning Steve against the wall of Hypatia’s box. 

“I’ve—never, with royalty before,” Steve whispered breathlessly as their lips naturally parted for air. 

Tony hummed softly and lapped his tongue across Steve’s bottom lip before confessing in turn. “I’ve never kissed a prince before.” 

Before Steve had a chance to comment, Tony managed to back away from Steve’s wet lips and his breathless smile, and instead he took Steve by the hand to lead him into one of the unoccupied stalls. He pushed Steve inside on to the clean hay, then followed him in and closed the latch of the box. 

“I am interested in anything but anal penetration,” he told Steve upfront. “Will that be a problem?”

Steve stared up at him, a little too lightheaded for such complex questions. “Of me, or yourself?”

“Both.”

Steve didn’t bat an eye, and grinned impishly up at Tony.

“I can work with that.” 

*** 

A series of urgent knocks on the door Tony startled awake in the middle of the night. Beside him, Steve stirred awake and looked over his shoulder at the King. Tony murmured a promise to return at once, then stumbled into his slippers and robe to shuffle, yawning and disorientated, out of the bedroom and down the hall to open the door. The world around him was foggy and confusing, and he was still rubbing sleep out of his eyes when he heard the Queen’s grave voice. 

“My friend, I must speak with you.” 

Tony blinked slowly at first, too unfamiliar with the circumstances to readily know what to do. Eventually, he took a step back and held open the door to invite her into his private rooms. 

Without a smile or a word of thanks, the Queen swept past him into the room. A cold chill cut through Tony’s body as he tried to furtively scan the room for signs of Steve’s presence; before he could make any effort to dash and hide the carelessly discarded belt from Steve’s uniform that was draped over the sofa, the Queen turned at the fireplace to face him. She bundled further into her robe and steeled herself. 

“It has come to my attention that perhaps,” her words trailed away abruptly. In a rare display of discomfort, she glanced down at the dark wooden floor before looking up to look Tony in the eyes, however drowsy and confused they were. 

“It has come to my attention that the friendship between yourself and my son has grown to be more than platonic. I hope,” she continued more loudly when Tony first tried to open his mouth, interrupting his attempt to either confirm or deny her statement. “ _I hope_ that upon careful reflection, you can understand why I cannot allow for such rumors to continue.”

“Your Majesty,” Tony replied quietly, but the Queen held up one hand to stop him. 

“I will say my piece and then allow you to return to sleep, sir,” she told him. “What affections you have for my son, I ask that you reconsider the consequences of your actions. You, sir, are a king. A king of an established monarchy, a country with such affluence and abundance that little could endanger your position. But my son, sir. He will be coming into power with little to no advantages. His will be an uphill battle, in domestic and international affairs. I have no doubt that he is a good man with the heart and courage our people deserve. I will not allow for his name to be tarnished with rumors of—of dalliances with unattainable partners.”

Tony’s expression instinctively darkened, and he shoved his fisted hands into the pockets of his robe before he spoke impulsively. 

“Are you angry that I have described you as unattainable, sir?” she asked in a lowered voice, as if daring Tony to say yes. 

“I am, madam,” Tony answered in terse, measured words, but otherwise said nothing. 

The Queen’s expression softened, and in place of her defensive anger, she looked at him with a dawning and heartbreaking understanding. “Where could such a romance go, Tony? You are a king. You cannot pursue a crown prince; he is needed by his own people. Where could this go, dear child?” 

Power drained from his concealed fists as the crux of her disagreement resonated with his destined reality. His gaze turned downwards, and without a word, he nodded his acquiescence. 

Satisfied, the Queen quietly apologized for her ill-timed intrusion, then stepped around the unmoving King to allow herself out of his rooms. The doors had only just slipped shut when Steve stepped out of the bedchamber, paler than Tony had ever seen him. 

“She has no right—” he started to say, but Tony shook his head and interrupted. 

“She is right,” he whispered, his voice so quiet it interrupted Steve’s indignant anger in a heartbeat. “This… you are a crown prince, Steve. If word got out of our affairs, your image would become that of the prince of modest education who trades his body for political or investing gains.”

Steve swallowed back a sob of frustration, and he stared at Tony from across the room as if he had been struck. “Is that—is that what you think this is?”

“I know that it is not, Steve,” Tony promised with a despairing smile. “But it is I who am King, I who hold the power. We are not equals. Even if we were, Steve… two kings cannot be. Let it end here, tonight.” 

Steve struggled to remain silent and, for once, to listen. Rationally, he knew that the Queen and Tony were both right, but to know what is right and to accept it were two separate issues. 

“Then, we still have tonight,” he decided. “Come back to bed, Tony.”

**Author's Note:**

> BINGO!!! I am officially DONE with this challenge!! I am so excited, I kinda can't believe I finished it. And to finish with these two numpties is even the dollop of cream on my pie - I hope you enjoy them, because I ~~intend to~~ will be writing something more of them in the future, and that will be much, much happier(!). If you ever feel like a Stony chat, [I'm on Tumblr (as shetlandowl)](http://shetlandowl.tumblr.com/) more often than I should be.


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